Trying to Hear God
by MyLittleYellowBird
Summary: <html><head></head>Sister Bernadette struggles as she passes through her personal wilderness. Are these feelings of doubt and confusion a sign that she must take a different path? As well as I've gotten to know the young nun, she does not belong to me. She is entirely Patrick's, and Neal Street productions'.</html>
1. Chapter 1: Doubt

A/N: I originally published this on my blog and Tumblr. If you'd like to see more, search the Call the Midwife hashtag on Tumblr or go to .

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><p>For the first time in her life, she couldn't hear God. She knew He was there, she felt His presence as she went about her duties. Babies were born, the ill were cared for, and God was there for it all. God was there when a neighbor reached across the fence to help an old woman hang out her laundry. He was there when a police constable comforted a boy after his dog had been crushed by a passing lorry. She could see God in the faces of Poplar, ordinary people living ordinary lives.<p>

She had felt His comfort so many times in her own life. As a child, she had turned to God for solace, needing to fill the gaping wound left by her mother's death. That early lesson had taught her not to expect God to solve her problems, but to look for her own solutions and to find contentment despite the sadness. Her faith had given her serenity and at each crossroad in her life, she could feel God guiding her. Yet now when she prayed, there was only silence.

For months now she felt this void. She recited the prayers, followed the services, but there was no comfort, no connection. Even the music would not soothe. Day after day as she knelt in supplication; she searched for His voice.

Doubt is a part of faith. She knew that raising questions helped to bring beliefs into sharper focus that blindly accepting the path forged by others would not bring one to understanding. A regular and thorough examination of conscience was necessary to building a healthy and strong relationship with God, for without it, one became a zealot. Yet now doubt consumed her. It did not clarify, it did not strengthen. She could feel His presence, but not His grace.

She knelt in her cell in the cold night of early spring, evening prayers long over. The Great Silence hung over the convent, taunting her, when before it had calmed her. She tried to open her mind, to allow God to soothe her, but felt only frustration. Where was He? In her weakness had He forsaken her?

When had it begun? For months she had experienced a dissatisfaction she could not name. The death of a young mother and child had rattled her that past autumn. Sent to assist at the Mother House for a week, she had inwardly rebelled at the officiousness of others. At Christmas she had felt the grief of her mother's death as if it were new. Pain and discontent began to grow in her heart, and she felt the discord deepen through the winter.

Why had these doubts begun to take hold? she grieved. Each day she saw God in the life around her. Why did she not feel his presence in her own life? Shame began to grow in her heart as she examined her sins of vanity and disobedience.

She had found herself too often peering in the small mirror of her cell, its intended use only to ensure that she had properly covered herself, hiding all clues to her individuality. Was she pretty still, she asked as she stole long looks. She had been told, long ago, that young men would not be immune to her physical charms, but had turned from such base feelings, sure in her path of service and chastity. What would have happened if she had listened then, just once? Had she hidden in fear from her womanhood rather than walking beyond such feelings, as the Order taught?

Too often and too eagerly she joined in the chatter of the young nurses these last months, and their talk of romance and evenings out made her long for an unknown. It was exciting, listening to stories of handsome escorts and evenings spent dancing under dim lights. Never before had these diversions held any appeal for her, but last night she had found herself powerless over dreams of being held by a man, tall and sure, as the music swirled around her. She flushed at the memory of how she woke in the night breathless, her body tense with feelings she could not name.

She could not ignore the irony of the choices of her life; how the vow of chastity required by the Order juxtaposed with the work of a midwife. Those vows which denied the needs of the flesh placed side by side with the everyday evidence of those very same physical demands. Her devotion to God required she accept all His children, and the service of a midwife in such a community gave her more opportunities to challenge and strengthen her faith. As a young woman she had been proud of this. Naive and untried, her passion for God had superseded the first early stirrings of awareness, leaving her ignorant of its power. Irony no longer offered self-protection, however, and if she found that her frequent presence at the start of life touched parts of her heart she did not know existed, she was not ready to admit it.

There was no one to whom she could turn with these feelings. Her shame kept her from it. Sister Julienne had such worries of her own, and depended upon the younger nun to help keep Nonnatus House running smoothly.

Sister Bernadette bowed her head and began to pray again.


	2. Chapter 2: Confusion

Her body ached with exhaustion. The long night had required all her stamina, and at its end she felt as if layers had been stripped away. There had been difficult births over the years, too many to count, and she had experienced such joy at the display of love and human perseverance each time. For too long now she left the birthing room feeling empty, with less and less desire to ever return.

Kneeling at her bedside in her narrow cell, she sighed deeply and clenched her hands together. Focus, she needed to focus. But the deep breath did not help to clear her mind; it did not soothe her body. The prayers would not come. Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead to the edge of the bed and struggled to keep from vocalizing the pain she felt. She was broken, lost and forgotten, and it was her own doing.

A sob shook through her small body, stifled in the covers of the hard mattress. Even after her mother's death she had never felt so abandoned. The long, terrible illness had given them time to prepare, if one could in fact prepare for the death of a beloved mother. While devastated and stunned when the inevitable finally happened, there were loved ones to share her pain. There had been no reason to hide.

There was no one now. Even God seemed to have forsaken her. Desperate for the comfort the love of God had afforded her, she recited the prayers, recalled the Bible passages that had always refreshed her faith. She worked harder, longer hours than ever and made every offer of help possible. Through service she had hoped she could return to her previous state of serenity, but somehow, she still felt empty. Purple-gray shadows appeared beneath her eyes and she began to fade from view.

There was no one to listen, no one to understand. If she spoke, there would only be condemnation and abandonment. She had tried to reach out, but each time was prevented by circumstance. Perhaps that was for the best. How could another understand when she could not understand herself? Even more, would her confusion be seen as a rejection of all the promises she had vowed to honor?

Shaking, she rose from her knees and slid into bed, hiding her face in her pillow. Why had this happened? She wasn't even sure what_ this_ was; she simply knew there was something there. She had been solitary for so much of her life; it had been many years since she had felt the need to connect with another. Her sisters afforded her the love and quiet companionship she thought was enough. Even Sister Julienne, her mentor and guide, did not arouse a need for more.

Now her heart ached for it. The warm friendship enjoyed by the nurses evoked a slash of envy. They were not much younger than she, confident in their belief that the world was their oyster, while she could have been an old woman, separate as she was.

She tossed in her bed, attempting to stop her thoughts from taking what was becoming a well-worn path. In the religious life, she told herself, she would move beyond friendship; the spiritual state she could find by devoting her life to God would supersede ordinary relationships. By not separating out a few, she could devote herself to all. She reminded herself of this again and again, and understood the truth of it. Yet she still could not deny her loneliness.

"You don't always feel lonely," a voice beckoned in her heart. A tear slipped out of eyes squeezed shut and her shoulders spasmed. In recent weeks, the whispers that spoke more loudly than her prayers threatened to overtake her. If she could stop their echoes, she could return to the way things were before.

These whispers had changed of late, confusing her even more. While still longing to join in with the others, there was another whose company she preferred, one whose nearness alerted every nerve ending, one who roused an interest she could not ignore.

She knew when he entered a room before she saw him, or even heard him. His weary voice tempted her to soothe his worries. Hadn't she taken it upon herself to mend his lab coat? To help his lonely son? It was not purely her own empathy for the boy's motherlessness that pushed her to befriend him and give the comfort of a womanly voice.

She had always respected and admired the devoted doctor who gave so much to the community they both served. Attending so many births together over the years, they had developed an understanding of each other, an ability to anticipate the other's moves and needs: a connection that made many of the positive outcomes possible.

Last night had been such a delivery. The strange nature of the Carter family, their resistance to medical intervention, and the intensity of the delivery of the twins had required all the resources they could muster to save mother and child. She still trembled at the memory of the lifeless form of the infant in her arms, unable to takes its first breath. Knowing he was there with her gave her strength, and she tried a technique that surprised even her. When the infant's lungs filled the room with the shrill cry, she lifted her eyes to him in shared joy.

Afterwards, she felt an exhilaration she hadn't felt from a delivery in some months. Perhaps that was the source of her unexplained, bold behavior later as they prepared to leave. She cringed at the memory. To some, the sharing of a cigarette was simply a result of a professional camaraderie, a normal denouement to a harrowing experience, and she had pretended to herself at the time that it meant nothing. But she knew otherwise. They had shared more than a cigarette. She revealed a private memory, wanting to forge a deeper connection with him, and found she needed to know more of him.

With him, she longed to be herself, someone she hadn't been in many years. She wanted to talk about the world, her life, learn about him. The hodgepodge she knew of his life was not enough and she felt a pull towards him that was becoming difficult to ignore. With him, in those moments they were alone together, she did not feel alone.

The last rays of light streamed through the tiny window of her cell as finally the demands of her weary body took over and gratefully, she slept.


	3. Chapter 3: Guilt

For the first several weeks, she rarely left her room. Nausea and other side effects of the therapy made her weak, unable to do more than lie in her darkened room and sleep. Gradually, as her body grew used to the strong antibiotics of her treatment, the nausea dissipated. She became less tired and more able, though less willing, to participate in the society of her new world. For the first time in her life, hibernation became her preferred state. Claiming to be too weak to leave her room, she remained in seclusion long after necessary.

Unable to concentrate on much and eager to repress her wayward thoughts, she began to notice the details of her temporary home. The room was cheerful with its bright floral wallpaper and sunny window, a window she had for some reason avoided. The warm space was intended to welcome her, make her feel at home. It was so different from her small cell at Nonnatus, yet even after ten years that room had never felt like her own, either. In both places, the rooms had been furnished by others, designed to meet her needs, but showing little of herself.

Her life was not her own. As a nun, she had turned it over to the religious life she vowed to honor in service to others and God. Adjusting to the life of a sanatorium patient should have come easily to her. The doctors had strict rules regarding patients' activities, offering little individuality. While in earlier years this would have garnered little resistance from her, now she inwardly rebelled.

She swallowed the uncomfortably large pills. She withstood the painful jabs, the countless blood draws from the collapsed veins of her pale arms, even the prickling rash that spread across her torso. All these afflictions were borne without complaint. She was the model, if taciturn, patient. All attempts to draw the quiet nun out of her shell went unrewarded.

She paced the carpet of the room, trying to understand what had become of her life this past year. Doubts and questions had struggled to the surface despite her efforts to subdue them. Foolish thoughts took the place of her prayers, displacing discipline and structure and she flushed in shame at their memory. She knew ways to redirect such feelings, and yet she had not done so. She was weak to fall victim to such corporeal desires. They would not offer true relief to her soul. Why could she not rein them in?

There were other Orders, stricter, more removed from daily life, which demanded absolute obedience. Straying from the path called for self-punishment. Is that what she needed? Consequences so great so as to prevent straying in the first place?

She could not believe her mentor would demand such recourse from her. Her whole life she had believed in a God of love and understanding, one who recognized human frailties and offered forgiveness.

But forgiveness was only truly granted to those who sought to purge the sin. Perhaps the fact that she had not taken those steps was yet another indication that she wanted to stray.

She had known her feelings, and could put a name to them. In the weeks leading up to her diagnosis, she knew of their depth, had even recognized a glimmer of their return in his eyes. She knew, yet she did nothing but pray over them and for the first time, prayer offered no answers. Such a sign should have warned her that she was in too deep. She could not, or would not, confess her transgressions to Sister Julienne. To do so would have forced her from her stasis; her mentor would have required some action. She should have left Nonnatus on her own, putting all temptation away from her.

She did nothing, and continued in this state of disobedience. She rarely spoke to him, only working with him when required to do so, but this tacit acceptance of the status quo was nearly as bad as if she had shouted her feelings to all. And now God had sent her a forceful reminder to reconsider her priorities.

Surely she had brought this upon herself. This illness must be a direct result of God's displeasure.

Part of her brain rejected this idea. She did not believe God was so unforgiving. All she had been taught supported the notion of a God that did not mete out punishments or vengeance in this way. Her illness was the result of exposure, she reminded herself. Isolation was a necessary step towards not only her own cure, but towards eliminating the disease from her community entirely.

Yet the feelings stirring in her heart reminded her of her complicity and guilt and fear won out. In the not-so-distant past, those lucky enough to have survived did so only through terrifying surgeries and years-long isolation from all they held dear. She had not removed herself from her temptations, so God would do so for her.

Her gaze was pulled to the dresser, a lone unopened envelope mocking her. She remembered the long, silent car ride from Poplar, the air between them thick with her shame. She could not so much as glance at him, for even then she did not trust herself to remain silent. Her stiff response to his attempts to reassure her was all she could muster. She knew he was not blind to her weakness, that his empathetic soul would try to heal her even then.

She should tear the letter up. His gesture of friendship would not soothe but exacerbate her pain. All contact must be stopped. God had shown his displeasure.

Guiltily, she took the envelope in her hands, caressing the very places he must have touched. Was this letter a test? Did her penance demand its destruction? Long moments passed, her mind lost in indecision. The light in the room changed and the late afternoon sun poured through the window, warming her face. She looked up and felt her lungs fill with air. Opening the top drawer of her dresser, she slid the letter underneath her sole box of personal items.

She would not destroy the letter today.

She knelt on the cold hard floor and tried to pray.


	4. Chapter 4: Honesty

Before long, her self-confinement became stifling, and she ventured out of her room. Still unwilling to join in with the others, she turned to the outdoors to find solace. Soon the gardens became her favorite spot. The moment she stepped out of the building breathing became easier, her head came up higher. In the garden she could finally open her mind.

Each day she would follow the outer circle of the parterre. The repetition of movement required no concentration and she welcomed the return of activity in her muscles. Guided by the low dark green shrubs, the white stones reflecting light back at her, she felt her body relax and gradually she felt her spirit unclench. The garden became her chapel.

As layers of tension began to unravel in her mind, she could sense her faith resurface. Long buried under the weight of her anxieties, but never truly gone, she began to again feel the presence of God. The fog of fear and confusion that had consumed her mind cleared and she realized with a grateful heart that she had not been abandoned by Him, after all.

God was with her, all long. His voice had been there, calling to her. Lost in the wilderness, she had stopped listening. Perhaps because of strange new emotions, she had closed herself off from solace when she needed it most. Opening her heart to Him again, she knew should would find her answers.

God had provided her comfort and purpose in her life. His love had consoled her in her grief and helped her understand and forgive the transgressions of others. It was those acts of forgiveness which formed the very foundation of her faith.

Forgiveness. The word cross in front of her eyes like a banner headline. God's love _was_ forgiveness. She had seen enough of forgiveness to recognize its power for good, and the pain caused by its absence. Christ taught that forgiveness was the most important gift one could offer and that one _must_ forgive oneself. She knew this, believed it. Surely, then, she must learn to forgive herself?

The weight lifted from her shouldersand she grew stronger.

As the summer began to wane, she shifted her route, her path creating an arabesque. The regular but intricate path skirted the fountain, passing by the fragrant knots of lavender and sage, the glossy green holly. As her feet learned the path, her mind explored her rediscovered faith.

God had not abandoned her. His voice was there, but she had not listened. Losing her way, she allowed feelings of confusion and guilt blind her to the choice God had placed before her. Guilt which did not come from God, but rather from within herself. Confident in her faith, she shook the guilt off and allowed herself to see the truth.

She had come to a crossroads. For many years, her life had fulfilled her. Caring for others had been her joy. But if she were completely honest with herself, she also knew that with her vocation, she had allowed herself to remain on the fringes of life. She could be of service to people who needed her, but did not have to risk anything of herself. Now, she realized, that was not enough.

Her life was her own and she would devote it to God's service. But was staying with the Order the only path to do so? The work of a home was just as much God's work as the religious life. Free from the fear that had frozen her mind, she allowed herself to consider her heart. She had never thought to be a wife and mother, yet now she felt pangs of yearning for that life. To know someone most intimately, to be the focus of their life, was that what she sought? To be a part of life, in all its messiness and passion?

What was it she wanted of her life, then? She thought of the pile of unopened letters in her drawer, hidden away. The strange connection she felt with the author confused her. Were her feelings simply a result of human attraction? The physical response she felt towards him, while deep, could as yet be temporary. She could not consider them, not until she knew where she was going.

Serenity crept up on her, unnoticed, that autumn.

She welcomed the chill in the air, just enough to stir her blood as she ambled randomly through the garden knot. The last burst of scent from the lavender and sage filled her lungs, and she caressed the glossy leaves of the hollybush. She remembered back to her early days at the sanatorium, terrified and lonely, refusing to join the world and was grateful for her journey.

The path led her to the fountain today, as it did every day, now. She sat upon the stone ledge and drifted her fingers along the surface of the cold water. A cricket chirped nearby, and she suspected that a small frog was peeking up at her from beneath the water lily.

A lazy water bug scooted by, and she thought of Timothy, how he would pepper her with questions, or try to impress her with new-found knowledge of the insect. The young boy was smart, and so curious as to ensure that his mind would always be first rate. Smiling, she felt proud and something else she would not name, yet.

She considered where the path would take her now. God had placed her here to find herself, to decide where she belonged. If she stayed with Nonnatus, she would know His love but not His joy.

It would be difficult to leave the Order. She would hurt many for whom she cared deeply, and would leave behind all she knew to be safe. But this was the path she had chosen.

No matter where this path took her, she was on the right road. She was not sure of whom she would become, but today, she decided, she began to find her way.

It was time to call Nonnatus House.

It was time to become Shelagh Mannion again.


End file.
